Dead Thing Thursday

My brain. My brain can be today's dead thing.


Also, this picture:

'cause it's purty.

And also, my love of M.

It's finally over.

Honestly.

I'm done.

I spoke to him in the first time in months the other day, melted into goo at his voice, we had a nice bit of banter and a good old catch up, and I was wondering whether 'I love and and miss you' or 'let's be friends (then one day I'll pounce)' would be the best option to go for, and then he asked me a direct question about something I'd said.

And so I started explaining what I meant.

And in the middle of that, he suddenly shouted...

" Oh my god, yes, that's the most amazing goal we've ever scored! GET IN MY SO..."
....." M. M? Are you.. are you watching the football while we're talking? When we haven't spoken in months? Are you listening at all? Are you... I mean... you know what? I'm going out in a minute, I should really go and get ready. So, yeah, bye.."
"No, sorry, I'm listening, it's just that......."
"...byebye now! *click* "

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is that love affair over with. Sometimes we need reminding exactly why we broke up with 'loves of our lives'. So we could get on with having one. Which isn't dominated by their interests.

Have a glorious dead thing Thursday. I'm off to get ready for a date. Where I won't be giving M a second thought.

Belated Rainbow Tuesday (again)

Having spent rainbow tuesday awaiting my laptop being fixed (for the second time in a month), I had to delay posting this.
Having spent today sandwiched between a nearly 2 year old and a nearly 5 year old in the backseat of a car, this post could not be more relevant.
Oh, how I wish for a room (with a lock) entirely to call my own.


I'd paint it rainbow, obviously:

it would have lots of books in it.

this would be my walk in wardrobe.

I'd probably make it quite psychedelic. 

 In fact, after today, unlike me, but I might just fancy a rainbow cigarette in it.

And Scar, if your attic looked a little more like this, I might be tempted to move in, rather than just spend the odd night freezing my butt off up there!

Happy belated rainbow tuesday

The people I (probably) won't be dating

• The man who called me over to his car, told me I was lovely, then started singing he wanted to put his hands all over me. I thought he was going to ask directions.
• Any of the young men in Brixton who call me rasta, try to sell me drugs, then hit on me.
• Any of the old rasta men in Brixton who assume I dig old toothless rastas.
• The really lovely blue haired friend of G's  who was living in Brixton when I accidently slept with him and haven't really spoken to since.
• Probably anyone who lives in Brixton, come to think of it.
• The bastard I kinda left M for who called out of the blue a month ago to tell me he missed me, loved me, but wouldn't call again for the sake of his relationship.
• The theatre techie at theatre-land work experience who spent half a drunken evening trying to touch me up, then assumed I wanted his number.
• The uber-gorgeous lighting guy at theatre-land who's totally unavailable but very flirtatious
• Any of the men I have actually been on dates with recently
• Any of the hot joggers or dog walkers on the common because I'm generally carrying poo bags,  screaming at the dog, being dragged away by the dog, restraining the dog (who is trying to bite them), or a fun mixture of the above.

Or....

• The Russel Brand styled hipster who spent an evening in Reading trying to chat me up with carefully crafted hair and image, and affected speech delivery.

Although I can't say I fancied him in anyway, he was quite fun - in as much as he'd based his entire persona on a man with drug issues, carefully crafted hair and image, and affected speech delivery. Actually finding someone who is willing to converse in a flowery, pontificating mock-Dickensian fashion with a mockney accent in a horrid bar will never fail to amuse me.
Or as he'd probably have it;

'stumbling upon the type of chap who might be willing to participate in some elaborate banter in a convesational stying what is packed full of creative flair and wit with a mug rather like myself in an 'orrid, sordid little drinking establishment such as the one we 'appened to be lending our custom to, will never fail to somewhat tickle my fancy.'

So, we had a little giggle, people watched together, and when I left, I had no regrets about not exchanging digits (or bodily fluids). He said he'd track me down on the internet. As he only had my first name to go on, I scoffed at it. 8.30am the next morning saw this first email arrive through facebook, and the following conversation between us go on over the next week....

HIM:
Now, I dont know about you but I think my unassailable detective skills deserves some kind of credit, as soon as I saw that bejeweled sparkling object attached to your forehead, I knew, I had to track you down In order to make arrangements to buy one for my own human head. So what was the afterdark like, was it still dark and dingy with sticky floors?


ME:
I was about to congratulate you on your suberb (albiet slightly stalkerish) reconnaissance skills.... and then I discovered you'd managed to get my surname from my sister. But never the less - I doff my hat to you!
Afterdark was indeed dark and dingy, and I ran away long before the end. How was your night Mr.Sherlock?


HIM:
touché AlI, in one sort sentence you have managed to knock me off my rarther impressive detective pedestal, and reduce me to nothing but a desperate stalkerish pervert of a man. I can assure you I'm not a stalker but instead a kind hearted level headed man.. that decided to go to your sister to extract as much information as i possibly could on you so I could then find you through cyberspace. My night was ok, nothing special, I pretty much went home as you were leaving for the afterdark. So where did you run away to at the end of the night?


ME:
I ran away to the circus. But on the way there I stopped to help an old lady across the road, but she was a decoy, and I was kidnapped by a pirate and have been forced into slavery on the seven seas since the weekend, hence my shamefully slow response. Please inform the coastguard, post-haste.
The ship is easy to spot - it's pea green, and the captain is an owl.
I'd like to be rescued. Living on honey is tiresome after a while.


HIM:
I had a funny feeling that might have happend to you. What can I say Ali, never trust a pensioner, there sinister creatures even when its not a pirate in disguise. Seems to be you got yourself into a terrible ordeal here, but fear not for your owl captain is a twat, choosing such a prominent colour for his pirate ship, his capture is inevitable, the metropolitan police force should have no problem putting this nocturnal jack sparrow behind bars. Just to clarify, If I inform the coastguard of your situation, and then utimately save you from a life time of slavery and honey... what do I get out of this, prize money? chocolate? a cuddle?


ME:
I can get you a pussycat as a hostage?


HIM:
That could be good, then I could put it into a hat which would be hilarious. Actually Ali I have a better Idea, come and have a drink with me at some point in the near future, strictly business, it will be good for your soul, and of course if you say no I will not inform the coastguard of your situation


ME:
There is a flaw in your plan... don't you live in Reading? Or am I assuming you do, because you were drinking wine in Reading? Perhaps you don't live in Reading, but just prefer their wine. But, the point was, I don't live in Reading... I've become one of those urban big city dwellers of late, and live in Laaandan town.

And I can't believe you'd blackmail me when I'm already in a perilous sea-faring situation.

You sir, are no gentleman.


HIM:
Ali you are correct, there is a flaw in my plan.. I dont live in Reading, I live in the rarther desolate and deprived town of Bracknell, not too far from Reading, In case you havent heard of Bracknell, Bracknell is a place filled with sadness, weeping childern and broken glass, Reading I find to be equally as poo, only difference is they have nice wine and it is the home of the purple turtle, so any chance I get to go somewhere different like Laaaaaandan town, especially Laaaaaandan town I will embrace it.
So Ali this is no longer a flaw In my plan, its a solution, I live in a crap town, your currently living on a crap colored pirate ship, why not meet In London for a few drinky pops? Just one final thing, I'll have you know I am a gentleman, I only tried to blackmail as I assumed your situation was a slight exaggeration, If you are in fact being held hostage by an owl I'm sorry..


ME:
It's a tawny owl. He's always got a close eye on me. Disconcertingly, even when I'm standing behind him. Or upside down.
You live in Bracknell? You poor thing. You should've said. 
Perhaps I should allow you a brief escape to the shiny lights of the big city.
The roads are paved with gold y'know.

HIM:
Gold you say! my word, how the other half live. Thank you Ali, I always knew one day I would be walking down the golden pavements of the big city.

  I found it quite funny, anyway.
So, yeah, No intention of dating him. He actually goes so far in his affectation as to say 'drinky pops'. But he might be someone who'd appreciate the some of the cartoons i steal from the interweb. Like this one, which I've been waiting for an excuse to post.

So there you have it. An entire post done purely to have an excuse to show this picture which kinda relates. 

The one who got away.......

I'm half sitting up in bed in my central south London apartment room. Which I own. (ha!) Rent (as if!) comes with the job.
It's a bank holiday weekend, the sun is shining, and the common outside the window is surprisingly empty for 9am on a Saturday. But then, we are a nation of piss-heads, and last night was bank holiday Friday - or, as it is more frequently known in Blighty, 'time to go to the pub'.
If I line up my view point correctly (by sitting just to the right of centre in my king sized bed) The window frame (one of  3 in my south facing room - I know. Get me.) blocks out the street lamp outside. Which means all I can see is trees, right off into the distance through the early(ish) morning haze (OK, pollution smog.) And if i sit up a little more, a vast stretch of green grass joins the view, which is gratifyingly free of footballers or dog walkers this morning. With my leisurely lack of plans for the day ahead, I feel like I'm waking up on some grand country estate. It's just a pity that the ornate bandstand or the duck lake (with fountains) aren't visible from this side of the common.
It's also a shame there's no butler to bring me tea and hot buttered hot cross buns for breakfast in bed.
But I'll get over it.
I am feeling uncommonly lucky today - despite the fact that yesterday while picnicing I was attacked by ants and now sport about 5638 itchy lumpy bites all over my body. Mainly on arms and feet, which is a shame because it's awful warm outside and now I look like I have the plague if I don't wear sleeves.
I live in a beautiful house, with a lovely family, a great view, all the things I wanted to achieve in moving to London seem to be happening (successfully at that) and life is in general coming up roses.
Of course, being a cynical bitch, I'm patiently waiting for it all to blow up in my face.
And my homelife is essentially me living someone else's life and it's not my home.
And there is the fact that while professionally I seem to be making headway, my love life does seem to lurch from one crisis to another. In fact, that's a lie. Crisis makes it sound like something might be happening, when very little does.
So, as I've said previously, I decided to get back on the horse once and for all, and date like crazy until I found a man that I can call a boyfriend.
Results from the last couple of weeks jam packed dating schedule...

• Nice jewish boy..... fairly convinced secretly gay. Also very annoying in a way that reminded me of an ex who is now only known as 'cuntfish'. Also didn't help that on our second date (to an exhibition I really wanted to see) I spent the whole time concentrating on not throwing up thanks to a child inflicted stomach bug (god damn nannying...) but then I should be grateful, because I didn't have to kiss him

DATING STATUS: contact cancelled. Claimed not over ex (true) but otherwise would've liked to date (false)

• Man-boy with dimples.... beautiful, quite funny, a gentleman when it comes to paying for drinks, but the work ethic of a 12yr old child. I just can't do lazy men anymore. He didn't seem to have an interest driving him on other than making it to the pub after work.

DATING STATUS: technically still dating. Kissed (peck on lips) on 3rd date, where we'd spent 2 hours cloud watching.
 Best clouds seen - a flaming poodle on a hoverboard, and Indiana Jones breathing out a pig.
Best part of the date - seeing clouds that looked like a flaming poodle on a hoverboard, and Indiana Jones breathing out a pig. Should really cancel next date, but he does live so locally to me. It's a pity.

• Manly fireman (previously a lumber-jack)...... very manly, and a lovely guy. Also balding (badly) and I suspect a hairy back. Also slightly directionless, and by the sounds of it, hopeless at settling on any one thing/place/job.

DATING STATUS: Forgot to ring to make a second date, although I did intend to give him a second chance. Now embarrassed by not calling sooner. (And bothered by the balding. I am a big fan of hair.)

• The attractive older man..... turned out to not be mid 30s. Turned out to be 43. Which I could've got used to. But if I'm going to date someone old enough to be my father, I'd quite like them to have the emotional maturity (and personal finances) to match their advanced age. 

DATING STATUS: A hopeless jobless drifter in their 40s? I think not.



So, after fairly pointless spark-free dates, I decided I should go back to something I'm better at.
Meaningless sex.
All spark and no dating. Perfect.
My 'little black book' came out.
Hmm. The 'one who got away.'  He occassionaly sends me 'what're you wearing' messages. Perfect.

Of course, he does live in the far north of London, which, if you're a South Londoner, might as well be the Outer Hebrides.
I had to get up at 6am to get back for work in the morning (where I was hoping I could slip in unnoticed and change into fresh clothes before breakfast. Turns out the entire household was up and in the kitchen. And curious to know if I'd been up and out extremely early, or I was coming in extremely late. *shameface*)

Still, the advantage of the early start was the tube being so peaceful. It was lovely.

hmmm.......maybe if i smile we'll get chatting and go out.'
And I have to give myself a little talking to....

"But, brain lust, we're on the tube at this hideously early hour because we're coming back from a man's house, where we've spent the night in his bed, and yet you're not thinking much about him. You're looking elsewhere, only hours after. I mean, really. You slut. And it's not that it's not worth thinking about lat night. It was... nice."

Really quite nice.
Like when I'd turned around to look out the window, surprised it was dark and he kissed my spine, all the way down, and had these feathery touches, and things got a little... heated, and then he did that thing...... yeah. ooh. Delicious thought. *blushes*
 And so i do smile at the nice looking man. But it's mainly the 'I had great sex grin' and less the 'take me out' coy smile i was originally intending. I must be some sort of sexual deviant.

But if I can't have a boyfriend, why not a fuck buddy? And why not look at other men? It's not like it means anything to 'the one who got away'.

We get on well. I fancy him. Have done since we had a one night thing at a festival when I was 19. We ended up in various compromising positions back then- and memorably, I was wearing only a massive ballgown skirt throughout.

We kept in contact for months, me pining after him constantly, him being cool, calm, quiet and mysterious.

Then he disappeared and severed all contact.

Then about 6 months after that, he reappeared with a 'how you doin?' message out of the blue. On the day I'd dumped cuntfish. On the day I was wearing the ball gown skirt for the first time since that festival. It was fate.

But, somehow, over the next 4 years we kept not actually getting in anyway together, or re-visit that one night thing. I often wondered what might have happened. Wondered out loud to M about 'the one who got away.'

On a more mature reflection, he's less 'quiet and mysterious and better than me', more 'quiet and nerdy and stand offish'. But I like him. He's ok. But I don't trust him. At all. Not boyfriend material. I know he falls out of love very quickly. He doesn't settle. We talk very frankly about our lives. And I know his type is older, curvy women. Neither of which I am. 

But, he does send the odd saucy message.

And having fallen asleep with his arm around me, I could get used to seeing him more.

Just until something with feeling comes along.

Dead Thing Thursday worships at another Allie's feet....

From here.

  Hyperbole and a half. Possibly the best blog in the world.
I want pyjamas with smell friend on. He's just ADORABLE!

There are some massive blog posts being stored up in my mind about dating, tiny child-witches, owls and pussy-cats, but the sun is shining and I want to go lie in the shade and read trash novels and eat Mr.Whippy.
The next time it rains, me and blogging about things wot aren't just stolen pictures are going to get re-acquainted.

Rainbow tuesday gets hairy

I've spent much of my free time of late making synthetic dreadlocks in a variety of rainbow hues.
Most of my free time is spent on public transport.
Which means I spent 2 1/2 hours drunk on 3 ciders on a train backcombing like a bat out of hell. Or something that backcombs. I don't know what.
I get a lot of funny looks from strangers. Also, on this occassion, I got an invite to an improvised opera, so maybe that funny look paid off.
Still. In celebration of how huge and colourful I am now able to make my normal, blonde, respectable dreadlocked barnet for fancy dress and photoshoots, (photographic proof to come) here's a fluffy rainbow tuesday.

Altogether now... *wistful sigh at the pretties* 

I really miss my (massively heavy, impossible to wash) rainbow coloured woollen dred extentions.
They looked like this.

 Unfortunately, after 4 months of wearing them, they smelt like this:

This did not mean this happened:

And so they had to go.
I satisfy my crazy hair urges by keeping my pubes a bright shade of poppy red.

But these are the things I've been looking at recently when not giving myself synthetic hair friction burns (when I backcomb, I do the job proper). And it's giving me ideas.....

Mmmmmm..... tatty bits of wool in peoples hair.... it talks to me.....

Oh shit. It was rainbow tuesday. And now it's dead thing thursday.

Time really, really, really flies.

In what little time I ever do have to myself these days, I like to spend time making (ok, lets be honest...eating) cupcakes.

But what I really want to make are rainbow cupcakes. 

Just imagine the party your tummy-box would be having after eating all that rainbowy goodness!

YUM. On so many levels!

And dead things... dead things....

.....my brain?

Or this. More food related stuff. Because I'm stuffing my face right now and it's all I can think about.

DEAD BREAD. Found here.

Dating in earnest

I've been dating.
For a year, on and off, I've been dating.

Some have been ok for a while.
The manic depressive -the 'lovely man' who I had a lot of sex with for 3 weeks. Like, a lot of sex. Good sex. When we weren't having sex, we were in bed giggling.
The boy - who, might have been perfect if we weren't both gagging to be the one being... gagged.
And others.


But none of them have fit.
None of them have felt like home.

Some have - in writing sounded lovely... but in the flesh.... it's never the voice I want to hear.
They all seem like little boys to me. My man, M, he's gone.

I talk, I listen, I joke and enjoy myself, but all I'm waiting for is M's laugh. And it never comes. Because I left him.
Because I broke his heart.
And in doing so, I broke mine.

And now no one measures up. Not anywhere near.

But, it doesn't stop me from trying.
Once more into the breach, dear friends.

I'm trying out internet dating again.

Last week, a nice jewish boy who's a hypnotherapist (maybe he could stop me nail-biting..)
This week, a man-boy with beautiful dimples who works for Ben & Jerry's (i might get ice cream...)
Earlier today, a 6'3 hippy fireman with a rugby player's build and bare feet (a fireman... oh, come on. Allow me one classic fantasy...)
And in an hours time, an attractive older man with greying dredlocks who asked for my number today in the library. I know. Honestly. Who pulls in a library? *high fives self* I impressed myself with that one!


Maybe one of them will chase away the dream I had last night where M was reading a list of reasons he wanted me back, and I sobbed and sobbed so hard I couldn't kiss him when he asked.

Dear love.
Please leave me and my hurting brain alone.

Dead Thing Thursday also returns......

 Because I found this image and thought it was too awesome not to share.

Also, because I made this the other day......... yes. I stick bindis to skulls in my spare time. Problem? Some of the bones came from the bird-angel of death. Remember him?

Happy dead-thing Thursday to all, and to all, a happy dead-thing Thursday.

A Return to Form.

It might not be good for me, it might not be healthy for my hell-bound soul, but... bugger it.

I've had it with the moral high ground.
It's done nothing for me. It's been an interesting experiment, but no good has come from it - other than the realisation I am only any good for the moral low ground; The desert where good morals and decent, grown-up, respectable and coy behaviour have no place, and romantic love rarely blossoms.
I've been wearing the 'good girl' costume for a while. It doesn't suit me.
The goody-two-shoes pinch and rub and chafe and squeak 'not mine, not mine' with every step.
Best slip into something more comfortable. Off with the concrete knickers. And as the physical barriers come down, the emotional blockades are going firmly back up into place.
Ain't nobody getting through these bad boys.
God help the fool who falls. Ali's back. And this time, no prisoners. It's all out war on the romantic world.
Sorry, moral compass, back in the box. I have no work for you right now. It turns out people just aren't interested in a nice, respectable, 'take it slow' version of me. So, I'm giving up.
I'm giving in.


Let. Them. Eat. Cake.


More fool them.

Re-introducing... Rainbow Tuesdays........

...they were Tuesdays, right?

I've recently got back in touch with my obsession with weheartit. I've spent many a happy evening... night  ... very early morning hearting away to many pretty things. And having recently got my laptop back from the making-it-work-again-place, I've also got my entire hardrive of forgotten  porn pictures to sort through and  find lovely things to share to.
Re-instating Rainbow Tuesdays seems to be a good place to start...

Tuesdays, Shmuedays.... who cares. LOOK AT THE PRETTY RAINBOW FEATHERS.

SO MUCH PRETTY ITS MAKING MY EYES BLEED.




On to something completely different....

........yeah.... I know.... WTF? This one's from my hard drive. I have no idea where on earth I found the saucy little number. Or when. Or what I was drinking at the time. Nor can I decide what the look in the unicorn's eye means. I think it's feeling exploited.

Poor unicorn.

I mean, the girl's ok, she's bound to be.

I mean... she's being given a sexy wedgie by a unicorn. 

Even if she's not turned on, surely she's thinking, 'well this is one to tell the grandkids...'

But the unicorn? Mythical creature, dude! Surely there's something more worthy than this for him?!

..............................

And, originally stolen from steammeupkid, (imitation is the best form of flattery, Becky, and you know I love you in every creepy way going) because his hair matches the theme, and because it's really late and I really should do as he says, and mainly because I just love to ruin a beautiful thing..........